Gemotions

He stared at the painting, a vibrant landscape his grandmother painted during happier days. His uncle, in a tone that felt dismissive, had announced it was being sold. His spirit felt crushed, a fragile bird with broken wings.

He had been avoiding human contact, lost in a fog of apathy. The world felt muffled, the colors drained. He struggled to get out of bed each morning, the day a heavy weight.

“It’s just an asset,” his uncle had said, not even looking at him. “It can provide for the family.” The landscape, once full of life, now felt like a taunt, reminding him of what he was losing.

He dragged himself to the kitchen, the aroma of coffee failing to stir his senses. He needed something, anything, to pierce through the fog.